


anything could happen

by mongoliabun



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fake Marriage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Undercover As Gay, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoliabun/pseuds/mongoliabun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On an mission to investigate a rich suburban drug ring, the line between Barry and Eddie and their undercover identities starts to blur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	anything could happen

**Author's Note:**

> written for thallenfallweek2015! it's a little late, but hey. it's done!

Dinner parties are Eddie's thing. _He's_ the one with the fancy background, not Barry. Barry has no idea how to act like a socialite or how to make small talk with people who so clearly have nothing more interesting to talk about than the state of the union or what's happening on Wall Street or the score of the game last night. Barry is a _nerd_ , and even if that's part of his identity ("can't help who you fall in love with," Eddie's bound to say, at some point), it still doesn't usually mix well with affluent conversation. Can't Eddie just leave him in their fancy undercover house to run surveillance while Eddie wines and dines with their fancy neighbors?

"Barry, they think we're _married_ ," Eddie insists. "They'll expect you to be there."

"Well," Barry protests, pacing the kitchen anxiously, articulating himself with his arms, "can't you just tell them I'm sick or something? Like, I don't know, tell them I have the flu! Or really bad diarrhea!"

Eddie pulls a face, somewhere between disgusted and concerned. "Bar, this is part of the assignment. They need to get to know us. _Both_ of us. If they—"

Barry sighs, running his fingers through his hair. He knows how the rest of this goes: "If they _trust_ us, they'll be more willing to let us into their inner circle, I _know_."

Eddie nods, pleased with Barry's answer. "Right. _Now_ "—he holds up two ties, grinning at Barry with almost childlike glee—"which one do you like better? Red or blue?"

Barry groans.

—

The Dawsons, of course, are the _real_ reason they're on this mission. It took a few weeks of snooping ("domestic gossiping," Eddie calls it; sometimes Barry thinks he's too good at being a gay suburban husband for anyone's good) and exchanging casseroles with the rest of the neighborhood before they figured out who exactly was running this underground suburban drug trade, but eventually all the clues pointed to the Dawsons — who were, coincidentally, out of the country until just last week. It doesn't make them immediately guilty, not without any evidence to support their suspicions, but that's what this dinner is for: observation, profiling, maybe bugging a few lamps if they have the chance.

Barry still hates the idea of having dinner with a couple he barely knows. At least there's some comfort in knowing he doesn't exactly have to _be himself_. But there are still impressions to be made, and they need to make good ones.

"You'll be fine," Eddie tells him in hushed tones, his hand at the small of Barry's back. It's oddly reassuring, like it always is. "I'll be with you the whole time." Barry glances at him and nods, not entirely determined, because he isn't — but Eddie's faith in him is enough for now.

Mrs. Dawson opens the door with about as much pep as a soccer mom after her kid scores a goal — "Oh, honey, the Blackwells are here!" — and opens her arms wide for hugs, which Eddie obliges gladly. Barry manages some sort of awkward half-embrace, unsure of what is considered too polite or too forward in a setting like this. Mostly, he hopes his smile doesn't seem too forced. Eddie is a natural, of course; for him, most of this isn't even pretending. He's lived this life once before, after all.

"Come in, come in!" Mrs. Dawson insists, gesturing them inside. The house is spotless, hardly seems lived in at all. It's not that surprising to Barry, but it does make planting bugs harder when there's hardly anything to plant them on. "Anthony is just finishing up his famous pot roast," she tells them animatedly, leading them into the dining area. "Oh, it's just to _die_ for."

"You don't cook?" Barry asks, and immediately regrets it. He doesn't meant to _offend_ , he just ... doesn't always think before he speaks. Thankfully, Mrs. Dawson laughs something that sounds like clinking china and waves a hand at him dismissively.

" _Heavens_ no," she says. "If Anthony let me anywhere near that stove, I'd burn the whole place down." She laughs again, and this time Eddie joins her. Barry only manages a nervous grin.

"You know," Eddie says, touching Mrs. Dawson's arm briefly, "I let Dustin try _once_ , for our anniversary one year." He shakes his head, and Barry tries to hide his embarrassment with his hand. " _Believe me_ , never again." He doesn't mean it in a bad way, though, Barry can tell, even if Eddie's little anecdote never actually happened. "Besides," Eddie continues with a slight curve to his mouth. He feels Eddie's arm snake around his waist, maybe as an apology, maybe just to play the part. Barry isn't sure. "He makes up for his lack of culinary talent in other ways, if you know what I mean."

Mrs. Dawson grins knowingly. "Oh, _do_ I," she says, which gives Barry the distinct feeling she knows more than she's letting on. He doesn't have time to give it much thought, though. From the kitchen, Mr. Dawson yells, "Margaret! It's ready, now!" and Mrs. Dawson shuffles them all into the dining room to be seated.

The dinner itself isn't _awful_ , Barry will admit that much. The pot roast certainly isn't — Mrs. Dawson was right about one thing, at least. Barry doesn't care much for the dinner conversation, mostly because it feels like an interrogation. It might be, if the Dawsons have any suspicions about who they really are. They haven't given them any reason to believe they _aren't_ just the new couple who moved in a few weeks ago, but Barry's still on edge, knowing how close they are to who they suspect to be the ringleaders of this whole operation.

"Now, tell me, how long have you two been married?" Mr. Dawson asks once the meal is winding down. "I can see that newlywed twinkle in your eyes, Maddox." Eddie laughs like he's embarrassed — Barry can't tell if he actually is or not — and gently strokes Barry's thigh. Barry tries not to flush on contact.

"Two years now," Eddie tells him, and there's pride in his voice that makes Barry's stomach flip. "Best two years of my life. And, I mean, not to sound cliche, but the first time I laid eyes on him I knew. I said to myself, 'Maddox, don't let this one slip away.' It's incredible, you know? That intense feeling you can feel for someone else. It's unearthly, it's amazing." His hand is still stroking Barry's thigh; Barry is trying to keep his composure, trying to play the part of _embarrassed newlywed_ , but it's impossible to think, much less _act_ , when Eddie's hand is so close to making him explode. " _Dustin_ is amazing, really. I don't know how I got this lucky."

Barry laughs nervously, shifting in his seat in an attempt to move Eddie's hand. "Well, I don't think luck had much to do with it," he says, playing up what Eddie already started. "You know he actually sent me gifts on all twelve days of Christmas just to ask me out?" Eddie's hand moves from Barry's thigh to raise above the table, held out in his own defense, though he's already laughing at his own expense.

"He's exaggerating, I promise."

"I'm not!" Barry laughs, somehow managing to find his confidence from Eddie's embarrassment. The Dawsons seem to be enjoying the change of pace, too. "He had this whole plan to kiss me on New Year's, I swear. He wanted it to be _special_." Barry shakes his head, thankful that he at least has some breathing room now. "Don't let anyone fool you — Maddox is a disgusting romantic. Now, uh, if you'll excuse me — I've really got to use the restroom." He stands awkwardly, hoping to God the slight bulge of his pants isn't as obvious as he thinks it is. Mrs. Dawson gives him directions to the bathroom and he rushes out of the dining room, glad to finally be away from the chatter and Eddie and Eddie's hand and the weight of Eddie's hand on his thigh.

He doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until he's safely in the bathroom, door locked, and a heavy sigh of relief bursts out of his lungs. He slumps against the door, scrubbing his fingers at the side of his head. His heart is beating too fast, too fast, _too fast_. He's fairly sure he was running on adrenaline back there, too worked up to be running on anything else. He thinks, for a split second, he should just finish what Eddie unknowingly started — but he wouldn't do that _here_ , in someone else's home. He just needs to calm down, to not think about it.

He turns on the faucet, running cold water until it's practically icy. He splashes it in his face, and the chill is welcome when most of this evening has been nothing but an uncomfortable warmth. He can't read too much into it — _shouldn't_ read too much into it. Eddie isn't really in love with him. That would be ridiculous. Why would Eddie be interested in him, anyway? They come from two different worlds, and as much as Eddie tries to renounce his wealthiness, it's still part of him, and Barry's still just a lonely nerd who spends more of his time invested in fictional worlds than the real one. What does Barry have to offer Eddie that he doesn't already have?

He finds the Dawsons and Eddie in the living room when he returns. Eddie and Mr. Dawson are by the fire, talking about politics, he thinks. (Silently, Barry wishes him luck, but he knows Eddie can handle a friendly discussion of conservative issues. He grew up under a conservative household, after all.) Barry starts to head that way, but Mrs. Dawson intercepts him on his way there.

"So, I've been _dying_ to know, how did you two meet?" she asks, offering Barry another glass of wine, as if he might need it to tell this story. Honestly, he might. He wishes Eddie wasn't preoccupied with Mr. Dawson — Eddie tells "their" story far better than Barry does.

"Uh," Barry starts, because he's not really sure where to begin. They've rehearsed this story dozens of times, how _Dustin and Maddox_ first met, but Barry can't help but think about the first time he and _Eddie_ met. He glances to Eddie and Mr. Dawson laughing over something, then turns back to Mrs. Dawson, a sheepish grin on his face. "You know, it's funny. I was at this book signing downtown — if you haven't read Harrison Wells' biography, I seriously recommend it — and I was on my way back to the train station when I saw this guy down the street grab this girl's purse, right? I thought, _Oh my God, she's getting mugged, I have to do something._ I mean, I'm no _athlete_ , obviously" — he laughs, gesturing at himself —"but I couldn't _not_ do anything, you know? So I make a run for it, but this guy notices over his shoulder that I'm pursuing. It didn't even occur to me then he might be _armed_ , so I keep running after him like an idiot, and, I mean, I'm running out of breath pretty fast — I think to myself, _God, this guy is getting away because I don't spend enough time at the gym_."

He glances over to Eddie again, shakes his head affectionately. "But then, you know, out of _nowhere_ , Ed — uh, _Maddox_ slams straight into this guy, tackles him right to the ground, while he's still looking over his shoulder at me. _I_ didn't even see Maddox coming. It was pretty amazing, actually." Barry rolls his eyes, laughing quietly to himself. "You wanna know the first thing he said to me? 'Call the police.' Real romantic, I know."

Mrs. Dawson is grinning at him like it's the best story she's ever heard — it might be, with as much wine as she's had tonight. She nudges Barry's arm with her elbow. " _Well_ ," she says delightedly, "you two sure do make quite the couple."

Barry nods, rubbing at the back of his neck. It's still weird to hear other people talk about them like they're _actually_ married. It's not uncomfortable, exactly — at least, not in a bad way. Barry kind of likes the idea of them as a couple, even if it isn't true. Eddie catches his glance this time, and they exchange smiles. "Yeah, I guess we do," Barry says distantly, still looking at Eddie, who's gone back to chatting with Mr. Dawson, and for a moment Barry forgets they're only pretending.

—

"Did you mean it?" Barry asks hesitantly, once they're back in the privacy of their own home. He glances over to see Eddie loosening his tie. The blue one, the one Barry picked, because it matches Eddie's eyes. He doesn't take the time to think about why he was thinking about Eddie's eyes, or why he's thinking about them now. "What you said, at dinner. All that stuff — about me."

Eddie catches his glance with a smile, and for a second Barry feels his face heat up. "Every word," he says, and Barry believes him. He wishes he didn't. What has Barry Allen ever done to deserve so much praise? Barry thinks he sees Eddie wink at him, which only serves to fluster him more. His heart _shouldn't_ be racing this fast — it's just _pretend_ , he has to remind himself. Don't forget that, Allen. It's all part of the mission.

"Uh," Barry says astutely. Eddie laughs, which makes Barry feel like warm butter. Honestly, this isn't fair. Maybe he shouldn't have had that last drink.

He nearly jumps when Eddie's hand touches the small of his back again. He should be used to this, this particular touch Eddie is fond of, but it always catches him off guard, makes his stomach twist in knots he wishes he could untangle. "I'm heading up to bed," Eddie says, pressing a gentle kiss to Barry's shoulder. It's _got_ to be the alcohol, Barry thinks, his face lit up like a Christmas tree, all his muscles tense where he stands. Eddie wouldn't just — this is still _acting_ , right?

"You can join me, if you like," he hears Eddie say, distantly, because for a moment he swears he's having an out of body experience. Eddie Thawne _cannot_ be actually hitting on him, or — inviting him to do what he _thinks_ he's inviting him to do.

Barry stares (maybe more appropriately _gapes_ ) at Eddie walking up the stairs, the sway of his hips, the definition of his ass in those pants. Barry knows he doesn't look good in a suit, himself, too lanky and awkwardly tall to make it work — but _Eddie_ , well. Barry thinks God made Eddie specifically to wear tailored suits. Barry might thank him, if he thought such a god existed.

"Yeah, uh, I'll be right up," he calls after him.

Wait, what?

_No_ , shit, that's — that's not what he meant to say. Is it? Maybe it's what he's supposed to say, what _Dustin_ would say (it is, he knows it is), but who are they really? Right now? Is this Dustin and Maddox or Barry and Eddie? The line, Barry thinks, gets finer every day, and that's far more dangerous than a suburban drug ring.

His face heats up to his ears as he covers his mouth, like that will somehow take the words back, but he can see Eddie laughing from the curve of the stairs. _What?_ Does Eddie not believe him? Is this supposed to be a challenge? A game? Barry has no idea what the hell is going on, so he stands there for a moment, trying to process his emotions and ... everything else. He paces around the living room, dragging his hands over his face.

Okay, one: Eddie Thawne is really attractive, there's kind of no denying that. Barry would be an idiot and _blind_ not to see it — hell, even if he was blind, he'd still be able to see the radiance of Eddie Thawne, the only person Barry has ever laid eyes on and thought, _I'm looking into the sun_. But that ... doesn't necessarily mean he's _attracted_ to Eddie, right? He wishes he could call Iris, ask her what all of this means, but talking about anything regarding a mission, especially an undercover one, with a _civilian_ , no less, is in strict violation of a lot of regulations Barry doesn't want to think about. He's stuck on his own on this one.

Two: Eddie Thawne is _very_ touchy feely. That's just how he's always been, even at Quantico. It probably doesn't mean anything. He's just a really nice guy, who happens to have a very bad habit of setting his hand on Barry's shoulder, or his arm, or the small of his back, which always has a very bad habit of unequivocally reassuring Barry. Is it magic? No, magic doesn't exist, but — it's _something_. Barry can't explain it. He just knows that when Eddie touches him, it feels like home, it feels warm and safe and it _does_ things to him —

Three: Eddie Thawne is his _fake husband_. The operative word being _fake_. There's nothing _real_ about it — aside from the fact that Eddie Thawne is very real and very blonde and very good looking in a suit. But everything they've built here for the past six weeks has been a total facade and once the mission is over, they're going to go back to their normal FBI lives and none of this will really mean anything. Except, of course, busting a major suburban crime syndicate. Barry's still working out how any of this makes sense, how _this_ became his life, and how he still wants to — feels _drawn to_ — follow Eddie upstairs.

He said he would, didn't he? Barry isn't exactly one to stand anyone up; he's just prone to being very, very late.

Is he keeping Eddie waiting? Eddie's going to expect him eventually — it's not like they haven't been sleeping in the same bedroom, let alone the _same bed_ , for the past six weeks. Everyone thinks they're married, _happily_. If Barry slept on the couch downstairs and anyone happened to be snooping around for the next piece of domestic gossip, there'd be a whole sea of questions about their _marriage_ and their _sex life_ and Barry knows it's best if they try to avoid that situation entirely. The last thing he wants to do is make this anymore awkward than it already is. It's one thing to pretend to be happily married — it's another thing entirely to pretend they're not, to fabricate a whole other set of lies on top of the biggest lie of them all. Barry can't deal with that much drama.

_It's fine_ , he tells himself. It's probably nothing, anyway. They've been doing this song and dance now for weeks, right? Why would tonight suddenly be any different? Even if _Barry_ feels a little different, a little too hot, a little more nervous than past nights — Eddie was probably just _joking_. He's been joking all the way up until this point, hasn't he? This is just ... all in Barry's head. It has to be. Eddie's playing it up to mess with him, and Barry's reading too much into it. That's all.

He stops pacing and loosens his tie, stares across the room at the stairs, which look way more ominous than they did the night before. He thinks about what Eddie said at dinner — _The first time I laid eyes on him I knew. I said to myself, Maddox, don't let this one slip away._ He thinks about Eddie's hand on his thigh, the hand that made him need to excuse himself from the dinner table to splash cold water on his face and think about nuns or dead puppies or anything other than the tightness of his pants.

He thinks about what Eddie said when Barry asked if he meant everything, the smile on his face when he said _Every word_. He thinks about the heat on his face now, the realization that maybe this is something more than what they've been pretending it is. (That's _bad_ , isn't it? Agents aren't supposed to fall in love with each other. They aren't supposed to _become_ their undercover identities.)

He's upstairs before he knows it, his hand resting on the knob of their bedroom door apprehensively. He knows he _shouldn't_ be, but he's not entirely sure what to expect. His mind reels with all the ridiculous possibilities — Eddie naked on a bearskin rug (they don't even _have_ a bearskin rug); Eddie naked and sprawled on the window seat, a la Titanic; Eddie in tight underwear on the bed surrounded by rose petals; Eddie standing in the door frame of the bathroom in women's lingerie ( _Barry, pull yourself together_ ) — which only make him _more_ nervous, to think that Eddie might be waiting behind the door ready to seduce him. Isn't that what this is?

He doesn't expect to see Eddie sitting there, on the bed, fully clothed in a t-shirt and lounge pants, innocently reading a book.

Barry gapes for a second and Eddie looks up at him with an amused, yet curious, expression.

"Bar? Everything okay?" he says, and Barry can't do anything but mouth indistinct syllables, never quite settling on which expression he wants to convey most. Confusion, definitely. Disappointment? Maybe.

"I — it's just — you're _reading_?" He doesn't mean for his voice to crack at the end, but it does, which makes Eddie laugh. Okay, that's not _fair_. "I just — I thought —"

Eddie sets down his book on the bedside table, raising an eyebrow expectantly at Barry as he slides off the bed to make his way across the room. "You thought what?" he asks, gently, as if Barry is a scared child who's lost his mom in the department store. "Barry?" He sets a hand on Barry's arm and Barry stares at it for a moment, bewildered, before he looks back at Eddie, brows drawn in confusion, eyes wildly searching Eddie's for answers.

"I thought you —" He laughs, then, at how hysterical this must sound, at how _wrong_ he was. "God, I thought you meant _sex_." He rakes a hand through his hair, offering Eddie a nervous smile filled with more nervous laughter. "How stupid is _that_ , right?"

"Well," Eddie jokes, "we _are_ married."

"Yeah, but —" Barry starts, laughter dying in his throat as his brain sputters over how the rest of this sentence should go. "I mean — you don't _actually_...?" He stares at Eddie for confirmation, which doesn't come. " _Do_ you?"

Eddie removes his hand from Barry's arm, his smile faltering like he's disheartened. "Why don't you change, and we can talk about it then." He turns to walk back to the bed, but Barry catches his wrist.

"No, Eddie, _wait_ ," he says, and closes the distance between them, his hands at either side of Eddie's neck. "I don't want to talk about it."

It's crazy, maybe, that he kisses Eddie at all, an impulse to prove something (maybe _test_ something) that's been burgeoning between them for weeks. It's crazier still that Eddie kisses him _back_ , his lips soft and pliable under Barry's. Barry thinks this is what it must be like to taste the sun, to drink in its warmth and feel its radiance. He feels almost like he's floating, and Eddie is the only one keeping him grounded. He tugs at Eddie's lips with his teeth, and Eddie grabs for the lapels of Barry's suit jacket, dragging him closer.

"Barry," Eddie breathes, warm against Barry's mouth, "tell me you're sure."

Barry nods, once, twice, three times, pushes Eddie further back, closer to the bed, but never parting too far from his lips. "Yeah," he confirms quickly, not wanting to waste time with words for once, "I'm sure." He hasn't been sure for weeks, but he is now. _This_ makes sense — his lips and Eddie's, Eddie's hands on his chest pushing his jacket over his shoulders. Barry shrugs it off, doesn't pay any mind to where it falls, and Eddie starts on the button's of Barry's shirt. Barry's surprised how quickly Eddie manages to get them all undone, how steady his hands are compared to Barry's own.

Barry's _done this_ before, obviously, but it's been a while. It's been ... too long, maybe, long enough that Eddie feels like his first time. In a way, though, he is, isn't he? The only other guy he ever fooled around with is Cisco, and that was once, maybe twice, when they were in college, when they were a little too drunk and a little too handsy. But it's never — it's never been anything like _this_ , with roaming hands and desperate kisses and the constant tug of wanting _more_. Barry doesn't want this to be the simple act of helping each other out; he wants _Eddie_ and he wants Eddie to be part of him, wants Eddie to fill him until he bursts.

_Only Eddie_ , he thinks. Only Eddie could ever make him feel this way, with his goodness and his charm and his deep adoration of everything Barry is and ever will be. Barry doesn't entirely understand it, but what mortal has truly ever understood a god?

He feels a little lightheaded, a little drunk on Eddie's kisses — he's _greedy_ , more than anything, chasing after Eddie's lips every time he breaks to breathe, and Eddie lets him catch them every time, the curve of his mouth like a silent laugh pressed against Barry's. His hands are on Barry's belt, now, pulling him closer — then, with a gentle shove, Eddie pushes him backward onto the bed, climbing between his legs not a moment later.

Barry gasps at the sudden pressure of their cocks grinding against each other, at Eddie's mouth on his neck, sucking and biting at the skin until it blooms under his tongue. Eddie works at Barry's belt buckle at the same time he presses kisses to Barry's collarbone and down his chest. Barry buries a hand in Eddie's hair, fingernails dragging over his scalp, bites at the knuckles of his other hand to muffle a moan when Eddie's teeth tug at Barry's nipple. Barry's never really asked questions about Eddie's sexuality, never really questioned why he's always been better at pretending to be gay — but he has to wonder now just where he learned any of this, how many guys he's been with, if Barry is living up to any of his expectations.

Eddie travels further down Barry's torso, planting kisses over his abdomen, his naval. He glances up at Barry to confirm this is okay, and Barry nods, stroking Eddie's hair. Eddie grins, pressing one last kiss just below Barry's naval, before he shifts himself off the bed, kneeling at the foot of it like a sinner before a saint. Barry can't imagine there's anything about him to be worshipful of, but the way Eddie removes Barry's pants, his underwear, slowly, carefully — every kiss pressed to his knee, the gentle hands at his calves, the somehow intimate act of Eddie removing Barry's shoes — makes Barry feel nothing short of adored.

He's used to feeling vulnerable, used to the burn of his cheeks when he's wearing anything less than the socially acceptable amount of clothing, but Eddie makes him feel _safe_. Eddie makes him _want_ to be naked, which isn't something Barry ever thought he would want. (Then again, he never thought he would want Eddie, either.)

Eddie rests a hand on Barry's thigh, and Barry wonders if he knows — if he knows what he was doing to Barry at dinner, if he was doing it on _purpose_. He can't imagine, but Eddie doesn't give him much time to, taking Barry in his hand with practiced strokes first, teasing Barry's cockhead with his thumb before his mouth follows, warm and wet and _perfect_. Barry throws his head back, squirming slightly under Eddie's mouth, hips accidentally thrusting forward. A groan escapes his throat when Eddie's teeth graze over cock, when Eddie's tongue swivels circles around his cockhead, making Barry feel dizzy and warm and loved.

He doesn't want Eddie to stop, tries to say as much in words, but they mostly come out in incoherent whines and tugs of Eddie's hair. Eddie seems to have a different idea, though, his mouth venturing to Barry's inner thigh, leaving blossoms of red and purple in his wake, leaving Barry untouched and desperate.

"Hold on," Eddie murmurs, smiling against Barry's thigh before he stands and Barry watches him dig through a drawer.

" _Eddie_ ," Barry groans in response, wishing Eddie would hurry up, wishing Eddie weren't feet away, wishing Eddie's mouth was back where it belongs.

Finally, Eddie manages to find what he was looking for and sets it on top of the dresser while he pulls his shirt over his head, discarding it in the hamper nearby. _Of course he would_ , Barry thinks. Even sex won't stop him from being tidy. It's part of his charm.

"Got it," Eddie says proudly, holding up a small bottle of lube. Barry's heart races just think about what _that_ means, and he nearly comes right then, imagining Eddie inside of him, imagining what it must feel like to be _part_ of someone so wholly. When Eddie returns to the bed, he kneels next to Barry, leans down to kiss him, to give him a few more adoring strokes before he parts, smirking down at the lube in his hands. This is all new for Barry, a whole new experience for him, but he trusts Eddie — he trusts Eddie with his life. "I'll be careful, I promise," Eddie vows in a whisper against Barry's lips, his slicked fingers teasing around Barry's entrance.

"I know," Barry breathes, sucking in a breath when Eddie pushes a finger inside of him, keeps it there for a moment before he thrusts it in and out, slowly, surely.

"Relax," Eddie soothes, brushing his fingers through Barry's hair. "Breathe."

It's hard to do either of those things when Eddie pushes two fingers in, but Barry nods, forces the air out of his lungs. He closes his eyes for a moment — not because he doesn't want to look at Eddie; no, because he wants to focus on every sensation, on Eddie's fingers stretching him open, on Eddie's fingers in his hair, on the weight and fullness of his cock leaking against his stomach, but left untouched by either of them. Barry's desperate for release, but more desperately he wants Eddie's cock, not just his fingers, opening him up and leaving him breathless.

He opens his eyes, catches Eddie's gaze and his wrist. "Eddie," he says, which almost sounds like _stop_ , but not in the sense that he wants to quit. He just wants something different. "I want _you_."

Eddie's mouth goes slack for a moment, like he's somehow unable to comprehend Barry wanting him at all, despite everything they've done so far. "Okay," he finally says, leaning down to kiss Barry again, pulling his fingers free of Barry's ass. Barry keeps his face there, shifting on his hips slightly to get a better angle while Eddie works at pushing his pants off, leaving just his underwear.

Barry strokes Eddie's cheeks, kissing him once more before he pushes himself up and says, "Let me." He reaches a hand down Eddie's underwear, fingers curling around the firmness of Eddie's cock, stroking him slowly, adoringly. Eddie's breath hitches, and he buries his face in Barry's shoulder, blunt fingernails dragging against Barry's thigh. Barry smiles to himself, proud of his ability to make Eddie shudder under him and whisper his name like a secret, like a prayer against Barry's shoulder. "Lay back," he says, pressing a kiss along Eddie's jawline.

"Barry, you've never —" Eddie starts, but Barry cuts him off with another kiss. Something warm bubbles in his chest at the thought that Eddie is concerned for him, concerned he might hurt himself or whatever else, but this is what Barry _wants_. It doesn't matter if or how much it hurts as long as it's Eddie.

"I know," Barry breathes, almost laughing, leaning his forehead against Eddie's. His cheeks are flushed, from exertion or embarrassment, maybe both. The distinction doesn't matter much anymore, not when they've both bared this much of themselves to each other. "But I want to. I want to see your face." Eddie nods, even though he still seems apprehensive. Barry presses a reassuring kiss to his forehead, vowing the same thing Eddie had earlier, "I'll be careful, I promise."

Eddie smiles, shifting himself to lay on his back. "I know," he says, and maybe it's Eddie's belief in him — the realization that Eddie has _always_ believed in him — that gives him the confidence to swing his legs over Eddie's hips, rocking them forward against Eddie's still covered cock, hands flat and heavy upon Eddie's bare chest.

"Hand me the lube?"

Eddie complies, breathing a faint _Here_ when he passes Barry the bottle. His hand settles on Barry's hip, then, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against Barry's skin. It's soothing, comforting, relieves Barry of any anxieties he might still have about doing this. He shifts slightly, giving himself more room to pull Eddie's underwear down, finally exposing his cock to Barry's awe-filled eyes. There's something beautiful about Eddie's cock that he's never seen in another cock before — maybe because he never really looked. He never really _wanted_ to look until now, until Eddie.

"Well, don't just _stare_ ," Eddie jokes, though Barry hears a hint of actual self-consciousness in his voice he never knew Eddie had, a flush to his cheeks that implies embarrassment rather than arousal. It's strange, to think Eddie might feel just as insecure as anyone else about his body, when he's always the confident one, the flawless Eddie Thawne.

Barry blushes himself, like a child getting caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. "Sorry," he says, laughing sheepishly. "I just — I've never really seen a dick I _liked_ , you know? Most dicks I see and I'm like, 'Yeah, that's a dick, okay,' but — I don't know. Yours is beautiful."

"Barry," Eddie says firmly, but not unkindly. Barry still thinks he's upset him, but then Eddie laughs and finishes, "If you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to come right here, all over my stomach — and I think we'd both rather I didn't."

"Oh," Barry says breathily. "Yeah. Okay." He squirts a good handful of lubricant into his hand, tossing the bottle somewhere next to them on the bed. He doesn't bother taking his time with Eddie, strokes him a few times to slick his cock, then takes a deep breath as he positions himself over Eddie, hands braced on Eddie's chest. Eddie has one hand on Barry's hip, the other at the base of his cock to help with the descent.

"Okay," Barry breathes again, nodding in determination as he sinks onto Eddie slowly, fingers curling, nails scraping against Eddie's chest the more of Eddie he takes in.

" _Breathe_ ," Eddie reminds him, his hand moving to cup Barry's cheek. "Barry, breathe."

Barry nods again, forcing the air in and out of his lungs while he rides Eddie, sinking lower and lower with every shift of his hips, until finally he feels so much of Eddie he could cry. He does cry out, gasping loudly, whimpering from the heat and the fullness.

"Barry?" Eddie breathes heavily, thrusting his hips against Barry's, digging his nails into the side of Barry's hip. "Alright?"

Barry moans in response, biting his bottom lip, manages a quiet, "Yeah. Yeah." He nudges Eddie's hand with his cheek, then ducks down, capturing his mouth, breathing hard with every kiss. "It's perfect, Eddie, it's perfect." _You're perfect_ , he doesn't say, but his kisses do, the beat of his heart does, the sway of his hips, every moan and little noise from his throat says more than he could ever say out loud. Feelings are easier to convey in action than in words, anyway, even if Barry isn't sure what his feelings _are_. They're strong enough to want this, but where exactly do desire and love intersect?

His thighs tremble around Eddie's hips, and he bites at Eddie's lip, nearly sobbing against his mouth when he finds _that_ spot, the one that makes him feel like he's on fire and floating at the same time, the one that has him pushing himself upwards so he can drive himself into it again and again until white clouds his vision and his ears start ringing, as if for just a moment, for just a few seconds, he's ascended to Heaven. But Heaven is meaningless without Eddie — Heaven _is_ Eddie. Barry doesn't need any higher plane of existence if he has Eddie Thawne, if he's part of Eddie Thawne and Eddie Thawne is part of him.

"God, Barry, _fuck_ —" Eddie manages, thrusting his hips harder, faster, begging for release. Barry rocks through his orgasm, then gasps all over again when Eddie spills into him and he feels more alive than he has in years. He has Eddie with him, in him, _part_ of him, and no one, nothing, can change that now.

He's smiling when he drops down, lays on top of Eddie for a while, just listening to his chest rise and fall, syncing his breathing with Eddie's. He can feel Eddie smiling too, pressing sweet kisses into Barry's hair, stroking the back of his head idly. They don't say anything for a moment — nothing really _needs_ to be said — but Barry is never one to let silence drag on for too long. He shifts, pulling himself from Eddie so he can roll to the side of him and lay there.

"Hey," he says.

Eddie laughs, shifting onto his side to face Barry. "Hey," he says in return. "You okay?"

Barry grabs for one of Eddie's hands, entwines their fingers, kisses the back of it. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Good." Eddie squeezes their fingers. "It wasn't too much?"

"Mm," Barry considers, humming something indistinct. "It was just right, I think. It was you. I wouldn't want anyone else."

"You know, we could get real married after this is all over," Eddie says, and Barry can't tell if he's joking or not. He hasn't exactly — he's not sure he's ready for _that_ much commitment yet. There's a pause where Barry stares at him, surprised, but not offended, and then Eddie laughs. "I'm joking, Bar. But if you think Dustin and Maddox should be having a more active sex life, that can be arranged."

Barry flushes, tries to hide his face with the hand holding Eddie's. "God," he laughs, "don't be embarrassing." It isn't a _no_ , though. How could he say no to Eddie after this? "But maybe — maybe tomorrow night. Maybe tomorrow morning, who knows." He lets go of Eddie's hand, nestles his at the crook of Eddie's neck. "We're still fake married, right?" Eddie grins, and Barry kisses the curve of his lips. "Anything could happen."

 


End file.
